


At First Glance

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first glance everything appears as it should; he's just someone she met on an elevator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amandajoyce118](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/gifts).



> Another repost from FFN. Thank you to those of you who are giving my stories second lives. I really appreciate it. I wrote this fic as a gift for @amandajoyce118 who'd given me the prompt "You stole my snowman!"

“I look like a trollop,” Jemma said, planting her hands on her hips and turning to face Bobbi and Skye.  The purple crinoline of her skirt swished and crinkled with her sharp movement.  

“I don’t know what that is,” Skye replied, stepping forward and grabbing Jemma gently by the shoulders and rotating her back toward the mirror. “But if it’s a Sugar Plum Fairy, then yes. You look like a trollop.”  She twisted a strand of Jemma’s hair in her fingers and hooked it upward to the mess of curls that sat atop her head.  She motioned for Bobbi to pass her a hairpin.  Bobbi complied and Skye opened it with her teeth, then pressed it into Jemma’s hair, causing Jemma to wince from the pinch.  

“Beauty is pain,” Skye tsked, stabbing a second pin into Jemma’s hair and securing the last of the errant pieces.  Bobbi tossed the remaining pins into a container and secured the lid.  

“This is such a terrible idea,” Jemma moaned, nervously pressing her hands against the creases of her dress.  

Bobbi tucked the container into her makeup bag.  “You were the one that wanted to dress to impress.  Don’t blame us.” 

Jemma glared at her friend’s reflection in the mirror.  “You’re not helping.”

SciTech Corp was holding its annual Holiday Extravaganza Gala and while, under normal circumstances she avoided mindless parties where scientists mingled, desperate for attention from developers, this party was different.  This year the SciTech program guide had advertised that her favourite author, the elusive and mysterious Leopold Fitz, was going to be in attendance.  

While his novels never made it to any of the bestseller lists, he was far and away Jemma’s favourite author.  She’d long admired the way he artfully wove scientific themes and inventions into spy adventures and she was never sated, always clamouring in anticipation for the next installment.  When she’d discovered that he was going to be at the Gala, she couldn’t have purchased her ticket fast enough.  She would finally get to see, for the first time, who Leopold Fitz really was.  Even if she had to dress up in a Nutcracker themed costume in order to do so.

No one except, she assumed, S.H.I.E.L.D Publishing, had ever met Leopold Fitz in person.  Certainly there were rumours about what he looked like or where he lived, but none seemed to really fit with the image of him that she had in her head.  

She’d once asked Skye to do a little digging through her hacker channels, but even she’d come up empty.  The best either of them could find was that he was largely believed to be a recluse who lived in a darkened cabin near the swamps of Citrusville, Florida.  The one interview that his publisher had released made him sound like he hated technology, which Jemma refused to believe.  Leopold Fitz’s novels exalted the beauty of Scotland as if he’d lived there and his characters fluidly used cryptotechnologies that were light years ahead of what most companies were even imagining or beginning to develop.  There was no way the same man who wrote about a character from Perthshire who used technospheres and von Neumann Probes to outsmart his enemies, loathed technology.

No. Jemma was fairly certain that Leopold Fitz was a physicist.  Or at the very least had a PhD in some scientific field.  

“She’s thinking about him again,” Bobbi said, popping a sugar candy she’d torn from their gingerbread house into her mouth. “She’s blushing.” 

“I’m not blushing,” Jemma murmured unconvincingly as her face grew hot. “It’s all the makeup.  There’s too much glitter,” she added leaning toward the floor length mirror.  “I look ridiculous.”

“You look gorgeous,” Bobbi corrected.  “Unrecognizable. But gorgeous.”

She tilted her head toward her friend.  “Unrecognizable?”

Skye choked on a laugh. “You said, and I quote--” she held up an imaginary tea cup between her fingers,“ _ ‘There are never any men smart enough, nor handsome enough to warrant my time!’ _  Who cares if they know that you’re  _ the _ Jemma Simmons? You’re only going because you want to see your author crush.”

Jemma rolled her eyes.  “I do not have a crush!  And I do not sound like that!”  She hated it when Skye imitated her; her version of an English accent was terrible and Jemma had certainly never held her tea cup with her pinky in the air.  “Furthermore, I don’t see how wearing an inordinate amount of makeup is going to make Leopold Fitz pay attention to me.  A man should be attracted to my mind, not my looks.” 

“Think of it as a front door,” Bobbi advised, approaching Jemma and resting her arm over her shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “At least give your author a reason to stop and want to get to know you.”

She stared at her reflection. “I still think it’s too much,” she said, reaching for a loose tendril.

“Don’t touch,” Skye warned, swatting Jemma’s hand away from her hair.  “I will not have you messing with my creation.”

“You know you could skip the Gala and let me introduce you to Hunter’s friend,” Bobbi offered, releasing Jemma.

Skye gave her a horrified look.  “You’re not setting her up with one of  _ Hunter’s _ friends!”

“You’ve never even met him!  He’s perfectly nice when he wants to be.  Normal too.”  She made a face.  “Well, normal-ish.”

Jemma reached for her coat and glanced back at her friends.  “Be nice you two. Or I won’t tell you how it went.”

Skye’s eyes widened. “You’re not wearing that are you?” Her nose wrinkled at the sight of Jemma’s coat

Jemma looked down at her brown, perfectly normal and completely functional coat. “What’s wrong with my coat?” 

“It doesn’t exactly go with your dress.”  

“So?”  

Skye raised one eyebrow, undaunted, and Jemma knew that if she continued to press the issue that the discussion would devolve into one about Jemma’s overuse of patterns and feminine ties and she didn’t really have time to engage in an argument. 

“What did you have in mind instead?” she asked, relenting and tossing her coat onto the sofa. 

Skye grinned smugly.  “Bobbi, get the brooch.”  

Jemma shook her head, her eyes widening in protest.  “Not the brooch.”

Skye’s snowman brooch was one that had been given to her as a young girl by a nun at St. Agnes Orphanage.  Sister Maggie had found it lying in the snow next to the bassinet that held the light-up Baby Jesus.  When a foster family had agreed to take Skye into their home for Christmas, Sister Maggie had pinned it to Skye’s coat, telling her that it brought good fortune to whomever wore it.  

“You know it’ll bring you luck,” Skye insisted.  She opened the closet and began to riffle through the coats, eventually settling on a white faux fur wrap.  “And maybe you’ll end the night making out with your author.”  

Jemma blushed and shook her head, willing the betraying redness to fade from her cheeks.  “Brooches can’t have luck,” she retorted, taking the wrap from Skye.  “And I won’t be making out with someone I’ve just met.” She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Skye fought a smile as she helped Jemma position the wrap on her shoulders.  “You say that now, but mark my words: you’ll be thanking me tomorrow morning.”  Bobbi reappeared from Skye’s bedroom and handed her the brooch.  She carefully pinned it, hooking the two ends of fabric together so that it didn’t hang open and would shield her from the cold night air. “There! All set.” 

“Go, or you’re going to be late,” Bobbi added, pushing her toward the door. “And if you change your mind about Hunter’s friend-- _ ow _ !”  Bobbi rubbed the spot on her arm that had just been elbowed and glared at Skye.  “What was that for?” 

“Forget her,” Skye advised, ignoring Bobbi and patting Jemma lightly on the back as she held the door open for her.  “Have fun and do things that Bobbi would do.”

“Skye!” Bobbi cried out.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jemma laughed as Skye closed the door behind her and while she waited for the elevator to the lobby, her fingers reached instinctively for the snowman brooch.  Even though she believed that a person made their own luck, Jemma couldn’t help but hope that Skye was right; she wanted more than anything to finally meet Leopold Fitz.

…

Jemma leaned against the wall of the elevator car, willing herself not to lose her temper as a young boy, clearly driven by an excessive amount of candy canes and cola, pressed the buttons for each floor as he jumped up and down and screamed for Santa.  His parents seemed beside themselves, shooting Jemma apologetic looks as the elevator door opened over and over with every floor.  

The Gala itself had been a complete waste of time.  She’d gone purposefully to meet Leopold Fitz and had expected him to be the main attraction at the event.  Instead, she found a tiny booth in the farthest corner of the room with a plastic table and a small stack of his novels ready for sale.  But there was no Leopold Fitz to be found.  When she asked around no one even knew who she was referring to.  It quickly became clear that she was the only person who even cared if he showed up.  When she finally managed to corral the Gala’s organizer, Christine Weaver, the woman had given her an odd look before radioing someone on her headset and then reporting that Leopold Fitz’s publisher had called and cancelled.  Supposedly, his plane had been delayed due to bad weather over Atlanta.

Out of sheer curiosity, Jemma had checked the flight delays and cancellations out of Atlanta on her phone and found nothing.  There wasn’t a hint of bad weather in the local forecast and all earlier flights had left on time.

To make matters worse, Bobbi had been correct about her makeup.  Skye had made her up to be completely unrecognizable so she couldn’t even fill her time answering questions about her latest invention: a rechargeable tactical unit that blinded opponents with a flash of over 800 lumens.  She would’ve even addressed her difficulties in finalizing her non-lethal bullet prototypes if she’d been asked. 

But no one even offered her a passing glance. 

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her purse. 

_ [Skye]: Are you making out with him right now? Am I interrupting? _

Jemma sighed, both annoyed with herself for getting her hopes up and with the boy whose screams had gotten decidedly louder.  At the 18th floor she seriously considered exiting the elevator car and taking the stairs, but as she made a move for the door, a man entered with a very familiar book held casually in his hand.

She came to a startled stop and the doors to the elevator closed behind him.  The man glanced casually at the floor selection buttons and after noticing that each had been chosen, he shook his head with resignation and carefully maneuvered his way past the flustered parents and tucked himself into the opposite corner of the car to Jemma.  

She couldn’t help but study him.  He was roughly her age and had thick, sandy blonde hair and the slightest shadow of a beard.  His suit jacket gave the impression that he was an academic and she wondered if he was coming from the Gala before she realized that his lack of a Nutcracker-themed outfit said otherwise. 

His eyes met hers and mortified, she blushed furiously, dropping her gaze immediately to her phone in a guilt-ridden attempt at dodging further interaction.

_ [Jemma]: He didn’t show. Plane delayed.  _

After pressing send, she dared to look up again and sneak a second look at the stranger.  A small smile tugged at his full, pink lips when their gazes met again and she couldn’t help but grin shyly in return.  It’d been a long time since she’d found someone even remotely attractive and her heart skipped seditiously at the thought.

The boy began a screaming rendition of the _12 Days of Christmas_ , jolting Jemma from her thoughts.  The man widened his eyes with exaggeration and tilted his head, motioning toward the family as he mouthed “ _what is_ _happening_?”

She snorted and immediately slapped her hand against her mouth to stifle any further incriminating laughter as the family turned and glared at her.  Her shoulders shook from the effort and she could see him struggling similarly. 

Thankfully, the family exited the elevator on the 14th floor and she could, at long last, breathe an audible sigh of relief. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked with a lightly faded, Glaswegian accent.

She shrugged non-committedly and against Skye’s earlier warnings, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There were really no words to describe how terrible her night had been.

“Were you at the Gala?”  He curiously inched his way closer toward her and she noticed a faint blush to his cheeks that she thought was endearing.  

“It’s just that you’re dressed awful fancy,” he continued, without allowing her a chance to reply.  He motioned to his own face, his finger swirling aimlessly and, she suspected, nervously.  “Glitter and all that.  Unless that’s how you normally dress. In which case--”  He stopped short, the tips of his ears turning a dark red as his gaze fell to the ground.  He stepped backward and turned to face forward.  “Never mind.  Forget I said anything.”

Jemma found the stranger to be oddly intriguing and she watched him with interest. She couldn’t deny the pulse that throbbed through her; she was only human, after all.  

Nor was she blind to a perfectly symmetrical face. 

“It's fine,” she said, measuring her voice so that he understood that she was untroubled by his question. “I  _ was _ at the Gala, actually.”

The logical part of her whispered that much of his appeal was probably due to the familiar book that he held in hands; she’d never come across someone who’d actually read anything by Leopold Fitz, much less  _ Dragons of the Loch _ .  

She turned abruptly in place so that she faced him; she couldn’t let the opportunity pass her by.  

“You can’t possibly have read that,” she said a touch too pointedly considering she’d meant to sound casual mixed with comical. She winced at her own words as the man looked at her confused, or perhaps even slightly taken aback. 

“Sorry?”

“Your book,” she clarified, attempting to sound gentler, friendlier.  The man instantly blanched at her effort.  “ _ Dragons of the Loch _ ,” she pressed, her fingers twitching anxiously at the edge of her purse.  “I just mean that I find it hard to believe that you’ve read that.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed with marked relief and realization.  “What makes you think that I haven’t read it?”

She shrugged, fighting a smile as the doors opened and closed for the 8th floor. “Experience.  I’ve literally never met another person who’s even heard of Leopold Fitz, much less read his work.  I’d hoped to meet him tonight, but it didn’t work out.”

“Him?”

“Leopold Fitz.”

His nose wrinkled.  “I think he prefers Fitz.” 

Jemma made a noise in reply that was something between a scoff and a laugh.  “In any case,” she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, “how can I be sure that you’re not just carrying it around to give the appearance of good taste?”

When his mouth crooked to the side in a smile, she wished Skye had been there to witness it.  Her roommate was often teasing that the only class Jemma must’ve failed in school was flirting.  As if there were actually courses on flirting.   

The man ran his hand along the stubble at his jawline and looked down at the book.  “Well, I can assure you that I have read this book and all of the others.”

“Even  _ Dawn of the Perthshire Man _ ?”

“Even that.” He chuckled amicably. “It was terrible, wasn’t it?”

Jemma shook her head.  “It wasn’t,” she said honestly as the doors opened and closed for the 2nd floor. “It wasn’t terrible.  Not at all.  But I will say that his description of anaerobic organisms on eogaian planets was a bit flawed.  They don’t need free oxygen in order to survive.” 

His mouth fell open as he jerked his head with surprise.  “You’re a biologist?” 

“Biochemist.  I dabble a bit in Xenobiology as well,” she admitted proudly.  “But I have a PhD in Biology and Chemistry.”

His mouth opened and closed wordlessly as the doors to the elevator slid open again.  When they didn’t immediately close, Jemma glanced away from the stranger and realized that they’d finally reached the ground level.

Disappointment curled in her stomach and she looked to the man, struggling to find the right thing to say next.  

“Did you want to walk--”

“Are you doing anything?”

“-- for a bit. I’m just headed home.”

She hiked her purse up her shoulder, trying to reign in the awkward tension that had suddenly crept between them.  She could feel a blush creeping up the back of her neck and she knew that if she didn’t seize the opportunity, she’d later regret it.

“I live at Maple and Cherry.  It’s not far,” Jemma explained hurriedly as she slowly exited the elevator and skillfully avoided his gaze. “Would you be interested in walking me home?”

“Ye-yes.  Definitely.” When she dared to glance up at him, she noticed that he was smiling broadly and her heart skipped at his obvious eagerness. 

“Good,” she said, her own lips quirking upward as they stepped out into the cold air.  An excited chill ran the length of her back and she tugged the wrap tighter over her shoulders and arms, her fingers catching lightly on Skye’s snowman brooch. 

“Were you disappointed that he didn’t show?” the man asked, motioning with the book in his hand.  “To the Gala, I mean.” 

She shrugged.  “My friends dolled me up like this because I was meant to meet him,” she admitted without thinking.

“Really?” he asked, his curiosity evident.

“They think I fancy him.”

His eyebrows rose and she could see from the corner of her eyes that he was working his lips contemplatively.  She worried briefly if maybe she’d said too much; scared him off before they’d even reached the first crosswalk. 

“Do you?” His voice was a soft, stunned whisper. 

“I don’t think so?” she admitted with a shrug.  “I mean can you really fancy someone you’ve never met?  I don’t even know what he looks like!”

He nodded. “I’d heard he doesn’t want people to know who he is.  Probably hates galas and getting dressed up for no reason.” His free hand rubbed at the back of his neck.  “He probably has a hunched back.”

Jemma laughed and he looked at her, bemused.  “My friend said the same thing,” she explained.  “But I don’t think so.”

“No?” 

“I do think he’s handsome though--”

“Handsome?” His voice pitched with surprise.

“Well, pasty, maybe.”

He straightened defensively. “Pasty?  ‘Cause you’re so sun-kissed?” 

“It’s not like that!” She shook her head and smiled genially in an attempt to minimize her unintended insult of their favourite author. “It’s because I think he spends his time in a lab.  Probably in Scotland.  He’s always writing about Scotland.”  She nudged him gently with her elbow.  “He was probably your neighbour and you didn’t even know it.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something?” he muttered. 

“I think he’s smart too.  Probably a physicist.  Or maybe an engineer.”

He reached out, his hand hooking into her arm and stopping her in place.  His blue eyes were wide with wonder and surprise.  “You think he’s a physicist?  What makes you say that?”  

“The inventions his main character makes,” she replied, hoping that her face didn’t betray the tightness she felt in her chest at his touch.  “He’s practically a digital age alchemist.  Everything he writes about I think must be possible.  I imagine that he’s created them all in a lab somewhere.  They’re too important to not have become a reality.”  Jemma’s gaze fell to the ground. “In truth, I think I probably wanted to _help_ _him_ make them a reality.  That’s probably why I wanted to meet him.  Why I imagine him to be something more than just a hunchback who lives by himself in a Florida cabin.”

His hand dropped from her arm and he started to walk again.  “You’re incredible,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

She jogged to catch up.  “How’d you mean?”

There was a pause as he considered his answer.  His tongue darted out, wetting his lips.  Finally he turned his head toward her, decisive.  “I’ve made them.”

Jemma shook her head with confusion.  “Sorry?”

“The inventions.  All of them.  They exist. Well,” he paused, “ _ sort of _ .”

Jemma stared in disbelief, nearly nicking her shoulder on a mailbox in the process. “You made the inventions from the books?”

He nodded, looking away. 

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

“The drones? The mouse hole? The full spectrum goggles? Even the femtosecond laser tech?”

“They’re not perfect,” he admitted, sheepishly. “I haven’t found--” He shook his head as if clearing a thought.  “I haven’t been able to perfect them.  There’s someone that I think can help, I just haven’t been able to work up the nerve to ask.” 

Jemma was stunned.  “You should ask him!  I can’t fathom anyone saying no.”

“We’ve never met, to be honest.”  He gave a deprecating shrug.  “I imagine she’s very busy.  Besides, she’s far too important to be interested in the work of some little-known inventor.”

Jemma couldn’t help but notice how he’d corrected the pronoun that she’d used.  A spark of disappointment shot through her; she wished  _ she _ could see his inventions.  _  She _ was interested.

“You don’t know that,” she insisted coming to a stop. 

He turned.  “I don’t,” he agreed.  “But is it worth the feeling of rejection if she refuses?” 

Jemma had no reply for him; she understood implicitly the sting of having someone tell you that something you’d long dreamed possible wasn’t possible. 

The silence stretched between them with Jemma wanting to hang on to every last second.  Finally, when he moved to continue walking, she reached out to stop him. 

“This is me,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. 

“Ri’.”  His face fell and she wondered if he was as disappointed as she was that their walk had come to an end.

“The walk was probably too short,” she added softly, a hint of humour to her voice as something inside of her tugged with want when he took a step toward her.    

“Probably,” he replied, his lips quirking.  

“I live too close to Stark Tower, I think.”  She stepped forward, further narrowing the gap between them and his eyes darkened in response, sending her gaze dropping to his lips.

His jaw tightened and she wondered selfishly if he was contemplating the same thing she was.  She sucked in a nervous breath and silently chastised herself for the raw desire that surged through her for the man that stood before her.  He was basically a stranger; she’d only met him less than an hour ago.  She didn’t even know his name. 

Yet, she felt almost magnetically drawn to him. 

“I should go,” she whispered at long last.  What she was saying directly contradicted what she was feeling.  Jemma didn’t want to say goodbye, not yet anyway.   

He nodded slowly, as if he too was in a daze and unwilling to leave her.  “You should,” he said, his voice thick. 

Her breath hitched in reply, her control beginning to unravel.  He reached for her, his hand grazing her jaw.  She couldn’t bring herself to move.  She didn’t want to.

Then, almost without warning, his head dipped and claimed her mouth.  If he hadn’t stolen what breath Jemma had left, she’d have gasped with surprise.  Instead, she whimpered contentedly, her arms wrapping around his neck as his hands shifted toward her hips, drawing her close.  The corners of his book dug into her back. 

He kissed with a confidence she hadn’t expected and it made her want him more.  Her body thrummed with desire and she longed to touch more of his warm, inviting skin.  She arched against him, modesty long forgotten as his lips slid against hers and his hand sunk lower. 

“Come upstairs,” she panted against his mouth, her fingers settling at his jaw where she felt his muscles move as he considered her offer. 

Without responding, he kissed her again and she very nearly dragged him into the nearest alleyway to have her way with him.  With a man she’d only just met. 

As his lips traced a path toward her neck, realization dawned on her.  “I don’t even know your name,” she whispered dimly, a smile pulling at her lips.  

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breath just as laboured and uneven as hers was.  When he finally lifted his head and looked at her, he seemed pale in the moonlight. 

“You’re never going to believe me,” he said with a nervous, throaty chuckle. 

“Try me.” 

He drew in a shaky breath.  “It’s Fi--”

“Jemma?”  A shrill, English voice called out into the darkness.  “Darling is that you?” Jemma’s head snapped to the side and she practically pushed the man away from her, tearing something from her dress in the process.  Caught unawares, he stood behind her, cowering abashedly in the shadows of the building.  “It  _ is _ you!  Edward, look!  She’s just gotten home; we’ve just caught her.”

“Mum?  Daddy?”  She threw a quick, apologetic glance over her shoulder to the man whose name she still didn’t know.  A man she’d just finished snogging very publicly.  Hopefully her parents hadn’t seen...  

He ducked his head shyly, the confidence she’d seen seconds ago suddenly gone.  “What are you doing here?” she asked, turning back toward her parents, shocked by their unexpected arrival.   

Her mother placed a quick kiss on each of Jemma’s cheeks.  “We were in the area and decided to see if you wanted grab a late dinner.”

“Your roommate-- the one with the funny name,” her father waved absently in the air, “said you were out at a gala.” 

“Skye? Yes,” she said.  “I was. At Stark Tower for the SciTech Gala.”  She spared a glance over her shoulder and found that the man had disappeared.  Her heart sunk. “It was some holiday thing,” she continued, distracted.

“Barbara said you wouldn’t be home until later,” her mum noted, oblivious to the shift in Jemma’s mood. “Did things not go well?”

“What’s that on your face?” her father asked, interrupting, swiping at the corner of Jemma’s eye with his thumb.  “Is that  _ glitter _ ? Bloody hell, Jemma!  You look like a trollop!” 

“The gala was fine,” she replied, her voice terse as she batted her father’s hand away.  “And it was a Nutcracker theme.  I’m meant to be the Sugar Plum Fairy.”   

“Well, you look ridiculous.”

“Almost unrecognizable, really!” her mother added.

“Did you want to come upstairs for a bit?” Jemma asked, ignoring their comments and walking up the stairs to her building.  “I’ll wash it off and then we can go for supper.” 

As she held the door open for her parents who’d followed her back into the building, her mother leaned in toward her.  “Who was that boy you were with?” she whispered.  “You’re not dating someone, are you?”

Jemma shook her head.  “I’m not dating anyone,” she replied, a touch defensively.  “He was no one important.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma stared aimlessly at her plate of pancakes and with her fork, swirled a piece in a pool of syrup.  

“Whoa.  Are you eating carbs?” Skye asked as she entered the kitchen toweling off her wet hair.  

“Want some?” Jemma pushed the plate toward the middle of the table.  “I’m not really hungry.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”  Skye hung her towel on the back of a chair and walked toward the counter and pulled a fork from the drying rack next to the sink. “Are you still obsessing about your mystery man?” she asked as she took the seat across from Jemma and pulled the plate closer to her.  

Jemma sighed with marked resignation and leaned her chin onto the palm of her hand.  “I can’t help it,” she conceded sulkily.

Skye’s eyebrows rose as she stabbed a piece of pancake with her fork.  “It’s not like he jumped through a hole in the universe for you,” she remarked sarcastically.  “It was just a kiss.  I mean, it sounds like it was a super hot, curl your toes sort of kiss.  But ultimately, it was still just a kiss.”

“It was more than just a kiss, Skye,” she corrected.  “He was handsome, smart and extraordinarily well-read.  He said he’d made all of the inventions from the novels. Do you even realize how complex that is?”

“I thought you said that he’d said they weren’t finished.”

Jemma shook her head and dropped her hand onto the table.  “It doesn’t matter that they aren’t finished," she insisted.  "The femtosecond laser tech?  That alone is cutting edge!  Imagine being able to touch a hologram and manipulate it with your fingertips.  I mean, the stuff that was just in a science fiction novel is a reality somewhere.  That’s unbelievable to me!”

The more Jemma thought about the inventions the more she kicked herself for letting him walk away.  After her dinner with her parents, she’d immediately gone to her room and proceeded to pull all of the novels written by Leopold Fitz from her shelf, flipping to the parts where the characters’ gadgets were mentioned.  It was odd; while the physical characteristics and utility were listed and described, the actual technical components and construction details were missing.  There wasn’t enough to even truly begin to piece together half of the gadgets.  How the man had begun, on his own for that matter, was beyond her comprehension.

“So are you crushing on him because you think he’s cute?” Skye said, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Or do you just want to play with his..." she coughed purposefully, "brain."

Jemma rolled her eyes.  “I do not have a crush,” she replied firmly, “on him or his  _ actual _ brain.”

Skye gave her a skeptical look.

“Okay, fine,” Jemma relented. “Maybe I have the tiniest bit of a crush.  Mostly on the man though,” she clarified hurriedly.  “And maybe his brain.  But not that brain.” Her shoulders sagged; she could never lie with any conviction.  “Okay, fine. That too.”

Skye laughed stabbed another piece of pancake. “Told you so.”

“But it doesn’t matter anyway, he’s long gone. Lost to the night like some hero from a comic book.”

Skye snorted. “You are seriously romanticizing this guy. I never pegged you for that type of girl!”

Jemma dropped her head into her hands.  “What is happening to me?” she groaned.

“Sex,” Skye noted matter-of-factly.  “You got a taste and now you want more.”  Skye reached for the bottle of maple syrup that sat at the center of the table and poured it over what remained of Jemma’s pancakes.  “I’m just glad that the brooch worked for you.  Proof that there is such a thing as a lucky--”

“Oh Skye!”  Jemma stretched across the table and placed her hand on Skye’s arm. “I’m still so sorry that I lost the brooch.  I’ve checked everywhere.  I know how important it was to you.”

Skye looked up with a mixture of surprise and confusion and waved dismissively.  “Don’t worry about it.  Seriously.  I’ve lost it plenty of times before, I’m sure it’ll turn up.  It always does.”  She spoke with a strange confidence that Jemma couldn’t quite comprehend.  

Once Jemma had realized that she’d lost the brooch, she’d retraced her steps all the way back to Stark Tower and into the building’s ballroom.  She’d spoken with the custodians, the floor director and even considered demanding an appointment with Tony Stark himself, but her persistence had been to no avail; the brooch was long gone and Jemma felt terrible about it. She knew how much the brooch had meant to Skye, regardless of her protests in the contrary.

“I have an idea,” Skye said leaning back in her chair, the fork clattering onto the now empty plate. “You’re probably not gonna like it,” she warned.  

Jemma narrowed her eyes.  “Dare I ask?”

“It’s a pull-in-case-of-emergency sort of idea, but it might just work.”

Jemma leaned forward, intrigued by Skye’s serious tone. “What is it?”

“You know the saying,” Skye flashed her eyebrows, “‘in order to get over someone, you have to get under someone else’?”

“ _ Skye! _ ”  She slumped back in her seat.  If she had a pillow nearby she’d have thrown it at her.

Skye held up her hands, grinning mischievously.  “Hear me out. Bobbi and Hunter are having their little pre-Christmas mixer this weekend.”

“Yeah, and…?”

“It’s not my favourite option, but it would be the perfect opportunity for you to meet Hunter’s friend.”

Jemma cringed, her nose wrinkling at the very thought.  “But Hunter--”

“I know,” Skye agreed sympathetically, cutting off Jemma’s objection. “If he’s friends with Hunter the guy probably has a face like a hog and wears track suits to work.  But… Bobbi’s been trying to set you up with this guy for months.  And we both know how she feels about track suits.”

Jemma chuckled in spite of herself.  “And guys with hog faces.”

“So what do you say?” Skye raised her eyebrows. “Should I text her?”

Jemma exhaled a deep breath and considered Skye’s suggestion.  They both knew very little about Hunter’s friend and whenever Hunter was involved the odds were never in their favour.

She crossed her arms at her chest.  “I don’t know…”

Skye reached across the table and poked at Jemma’s arm with her index finger.  “C’mon.  You never know!  Maybe Hunter’s friend is your mystery man!”

Jemma chortled at the thought.  “I think it’s far likelier that it’d be Leopold Fitz!” she declared sarcastically, rolling her eyes for added emphasis.  “I’m going to regret this aren’t I?”

Skye shrugged, a not-very-reassuring look on her face.  “I make no such promises.”

She scrubbed her fingers over her eyes and groaned. “Fine,” she acquiesced.  "Might as well. What do I have to lose?  Well. Aside from my dignity that is...”  She leaned forward in her chair and raised a finger in warning, “If he comes wearing a tracksuit…”

Skye grinned.  “I’ll tell Bobbi that she can use her staves on him.”

… 

The walls seemed to vibrate with screaming vocals, the clanging of cymbals and one too many electric guitars.  Jemma shifted the tray of cookies between her hands and exchanged a worried look with Skye. It certainly wasn’t Christmas carols that was filtering into the hall outside of Bobbi and Hunter’s top floor apartment.    

“Skye. That’s British punk,” Jemma noted pointedly.

She nodded, her own eyes wide.  “Don’t worry.  I still remember my promise.  If I so much as see this guy wearing even  _ one _ Adidas stripe, we’re going to leave.  I swear.”

Jemma sucked in a nervous, shaky breath.  “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry.  You’ve got this.”

Before they could even reach for the handle, the door swung open revealing an obscenely large man wearing one too many gold chains, a baseball hat tipped to the side, a cigarette propped behind his ear and…   _ a track suit. _

“Oy!” The man called out over his shoulder.  “Who ordered the birds?”  He barked with laughter, lifted the hat from his head and ran his hand through his matted hair.  “Wha’s your name, luv?” he asked Skye with a purposeful wink.  

“My name?” she said with noticeable irritation.  “It’s It’s-Never-Gonna-Hap-”

“Jemma! Skye!” Bobbi cried out, squeezing herself next to the giant man.  “Ignore Eggy.  He’s a moron.”

“Eh!” Eggy protested.  “I’ll remember tha’,” he said with a mock pout as he put his hat back onto his head, slipped the cigarette from behind his ear and propped it between his lips.  “Wha’ about you?” he asked with a nod toward Jemma.  “You available?”

“Ugh!” Bobbi rolled her eyes and with a shove, pushed him out the door.  Jemma and Skye stepped quickly to the side as he lumbered past them.  “She’s meant for someone else!” she called out.

“Shame,” he said, turning as he walked, offering one last wink.

“I swear the guy I have for you is better than that,” Bobbi said in a muted tone that Jemma could barely make out over the thump of the music.

“I hope so,” she replied.

Bobbi took the cookie tray from Jemma and motioned for them to toss their jackets onto the already growing pile that lay on the bench next to the door.  

“Is he here?” Skye asked, craning her neck to see if she could pick out Hunter’s mystery friend from the crowd of people who mingled throughout the apartment.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod, a knowing smile on her lips.  “He’s over by the sofa in the other room.  He looks super nervous.  It’s kind of sweet actually.  We didn’t even tell him your name.”

Jemma frowned.  “Why not?”

Bobbi bit the corner of her lip and shook her head. “Well, you didn’t know his, so I figured it was only fair.”

There was something odd to Bobbi’s intonation; it was as if she was suggesting something that Jemma couldn’t read over the blare of guitar riffs and drum snares.

“Ladies,” Hunter greeted loudly as he joined Bobbi in the entryway, a pint of beer held comfortably in one hand.  His cheeks were flushed as his free arm wrapped comfortably at Bobbi’s waist.  Jemma figured he must already be a few beers deep into the evening.  “Is that what you’re wearing?”  

Bobbi jabbed him in the side with her elbow as Jemma looked down at her perfectly respectable black trousers and white, loosely fitted blouse.

“At least she didn’t wear a tie,” Skye noted with a smirk.

“ _ Skye! _ ”

Bobbi shook her head.  “Jemma, you look perfectly fine.  I’m sure Fit-,” she stopped short, blanching slightly.  “I’m sure he won’t even care about your clothes.”

Jemma frowned, seriously rethinking her outfit as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Why don’t you introduce her to him?” Bobbi asked, tugging at Hunter’s shirt.

He gave her a look that suggested he wanted no part in whatever she had planned and she retorted with her own, more pointed and purposefully demanding, look.  It was as if they were in the midst of some silent, yet heated, argument.

“Sure,” he agreed less than enthused.  “Why not?  Come along then.” Hunter tilted his head, motioning for her to follow. 

Jemma looked at Skye nervously, her heart beat suddenly speeding up.  

“Go!” Skye said, waving her forward and nudging her gently.  “I’ll be with Bobbi if you’re looking for me.”

She nodded and turned to follow Hunter down the hallway and into the living room.  Their usually quite spacious penthouse apartment was very nearly packed.  People were everywhere and Jemma wasn’t even sure where to look and who she should be looking for.  She weaved her way through the guests, keeping as close as possible to Hunter, practically running into his back whenever he stopped to greet someone, further prolonging the inevitable. She felt ridiculously on edge and she was entirely uncertain of what she was about to be confronted with.  She started to wonder if agreeing to meet Hunter’s friend was one of the worst ideas Skye had ever had.

“Eh, Fitz!” 

Jemma came to an immediate stop; her face blanched at the name that Hunter had called out, convinced she must’ve misheard.  

“Fitz!” he tried again and Jemma was certain it had to be a simple coincidence.  Until, that is, she saw who it was that had responded and turned at the sound of Hunter’s voice, his hand rubbing at the stubble along his chin.

_ It wasn’t-- _

_ No. It couldn’t possibly be. _

Hunter’s friend was dressed in a light grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.  When the familiar blue eyes met hers, she felt her breath stall in her chest.  The loud music seemed to dull; the only sound she could hear was the nervous, quickened thump of her heart as it leapt up and into her throat.

“This is Jemma Simmons, tha’ girl Bobbi was on about,” Hunter explained, oblivious to the shock that was now clearly etched upon both their faces.  “She’s a scientist. Or somethin’ like that,” he added with a shrug.

“And this is Leo Fitz,” Hunter continued, slapping his friend on the back causing him to move forward at the sudden contact.  “But don’t call ‘im Leo. He hates it.  Fitz here writes books.  He tells me they’re terrible, but Bobbi says you like ‘em, so...” He took a sip from his pint glass. “‘Ere we are then.”

Fitz’s mouth opened as if he were about to say something, then he closed it just as quickly.  Instead, he bowed his head shyly, his gaze falling to the floor as his hands found their way into his trouser pockets.  

“Hey,” he muttered.

“Hello,” she replied, equally unsure.   

Hunter’s head jerked from side to side as he looked at each of them, confused.  “Am I missing somethin’?”

Neither replied, unwilling to confirm or deny the fact that they’d met before, choosing instead to continue what had apparently become some terribly awkward staring contest.  

“Right then,” Hunter said, dragging his words with uncertainty as he backed away and hoisted his pint toward them before taking another sip.  “Cheers. I’ll leave you to it.”  He quickly turned on his heel and within seconds had begun to infuse himself into a conversation on the other side of the room.

The only words she could think of to say were  _ bloody-flippin’-hell _ .  She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him; he was just as she’d remembered.  Maybe even more handsome than she’d ever given him credit for being.  It all just seemed impossible.  Unbelievable, even.  The very man that Bobbi had been trying to set her up with was--

“ _ You’re _ Leopold Fitz?” she blurted, his name cresting on the exhale of a breath that she’d been holding.

He gave a sheepish shrug of acknowledgement and tipped his head toward the sofa.  She followed his lead and took a seat next to him, her hands folding and unfolding anxiously at her waist.  When seated, she shifted toward him and waited for him to launch into an explanation.  Instead, he continued to remain silent and renewed awkwardness stretched between them as he studied her.

One song was replaced by the next and she could feel her body tensing as she racked her brain for something to say.  Something intelligent.  Something coherent. But in spite of having two doctorates and having published numerous theses on a variety of biochemical topics, she was rendered speechless next to her favourite author and the very man she’d been willing to take to her bed a little over two weeks prior.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she admitted, breaking their stalemate.

He stood abruptly, turning in a circle as if he didn’t know which way to turn.  “I’ll go, then.”

“No, wait!”  Panicked, she reached for his hand and he startled at her touch, his eyes widening with uncertainty as he looked down at her.  “That’s not what I meant! Just…” She let her hand fall back to her lap and she pretended that she didn’t notice how his hand clenched into a fist before he reached and scratched at the back of his neck. “Why didn’t you say anything?  About who you really are. Before, I mean.”  Her face reddened and she was grateful for the dim light of the living room.

“Oh.”  Fitz sat back on the sofa, his hands cupping his kneecaps.  “I was going to, I swear.  I just--” he exhaled deeply.  “You started talking about my work and I really liked hearing what you had to say.  No one had ever done that before.  And then when I was about to tell you--”

“My parents showed up,” she added.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked hesitantly, daring to meet her gaze for the briefest of moments.

“About your novels?”

He nodded quickly in reply, his eyes wide and his jaw tense.  

Jemma smiled softly and wondered which of them was more nervous.  “Yes, of course.  I really am a huge fan.  I must’ve seemed ridiculous to you then.  How embarrassing!”

He furrowed his brows in confusion.  “Embarrassing?”

She looked down at her hands which twisted nervously in her lap.  “God, I fawned over you like some star struck little girl.  What you must’ve thought hearing me prattle on like that...!”

“I was flattered,” he said sincerely.

Jemma looked up with surprise.  “Really?”

“Really,” he assured with a smile.

She grinned and reached forward, covering his hand with her own. “Oh Fitz! In that case, if what you said about having created those inventions is true, I’m fairly certain you might just be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”  

He seemed to search her face for a moment, wanting confirmation that she was genuine in her praise.  She squeezed his hand reassuringly and his features softened.  He beamed proudly and Jemma felt prickles of warmth bubble within her.  

“That’s high praise coming from you.”

Her brows knitted with confusion.  “How do you mean?”

His gaze shifted away from her to some unseen spot across the room.  It was as if he’d suddenly realized he’d said too much.   

“What?” she pressed, squeezing his hand a second time.  “Tell me.”

Fitz looked down to where their hands met and seemed to steel himself.  “It’s just…” He glanced up at her, fraught with something unspoken. “It’s just that… I’ve read --”

“How’re things going?” A voice from behind them sing-songed, interrupting whatever Fitz was about to reveal.  Jemma released Fitz’s hand guiltily and shifted in her seat to find Skye smiling mischievously behind them.  

“No track suits, I see…”

“Skye!”  Jemma jumped to her feet, her face blazing with embarrassment as she raced to the other side of the sofa and grabbed her friend by the hand.  “Just--,” she turned and glanced at Fitz, who’d been watching their exchange with alarm.  “I’ll be back in a minute. Okay?” she said hurriedly before she yanked Skye by the hand and pulled her out of the living room and into the closest bedroom.

“He’s cute!” Skye declared as Jemma closed the door behind them and began to pace the room. “He’s a little too Indiana Jones for my tastes but I can see why you haven’t stopped thinking about him.  How’s it going anyway?”

“That’s him!”  Jemma said frantically, gnawing at a fingernail.

“Him who?”

“Him!” she repeated, throwing her arm out.  “ _ Leopold Fitz! _  And--”

“Leopold Fitz?” Skye’s features crinkled. “Wait, you mean your author?”  Jemma nodded.  “That’s your author that you’ve been looking for?  Bobbi knows your author?!”  She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone and began to type. “I’m texting her to come in here.  How long did she keep that little secret from us?  I could kill--”

“He’s the guy!” Jemma blurted.

Skye looked up, confused. “What are you talking about? What guy?”  

“The guy- _ guy _ .  The mystery guy!”

Skye held up her finger, her eyebrows furrowing as she struggled to understand what Jemma was saying. “Wait.  The man that you made out with?”  Jemma nodded her confirmation.  “That’s him?”  She nodded again, more vehemently.  “Wait.  Your author is also the mystery guy?”

At Skye’s question the door to the bedroom opened and Bobbi entered, grinning broadly.  “He’s nice, right?” she asked, oblivious to Jemma’s panic as she closed the door behind her. “Were you surprised?”

Skye grabbed Bobbi’s arm excitedly.  “He’s the guy!”

She looked at Skye puzzled. “What guy?  What are you talking about?”

“Leopold Fitz is Jemma’s mystery man!   _ The _ guy! You know...” She bobbled her head slightly and made a lewd gesture.

“Skye!”

“What?”

Bobbi shook her head as if to clear her own confusion.  “Are you saying that Fitz is--”

“The guy!” Skye finished, throwing her hands up, laughter evident in her voice.

Bobbi’s head moved from side to side as she looked at the two friends.  “But he just left!”  

“What?!”


	3. Chapter 3

As Jemma lay on her bed, she flipped the scrap piece of paper that held Fitz’s contact information between her fingers.  Bobbi had stopped by with the information hours earlier and Jemma was still debating whether she should even bother to call him.  Days had passed since the night of the party, when Fitz had slipped out before she’d had a chance to--

Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she’d wanted to do, she just knew that she hadn’t wanted him to leave.  Certainly not without saying goodbye.

When Eggy had returned to the party and attempted to make another play for Skye’s affections, the two friends had decided it was time for them to leave.  Jemma’s one consolation as they walked out the door was that Bobbi had promised to get to the bottom of Fitz’s impromptu exit.

And she had. Sort of.

According to Bobbi, Fitz had returned almost an hour later, confused and startled to have discovered that Jemma had left.  Bobbi admitted that she’d had to stop herself from very nearly tearing a strip off of him for what he’d done.

“Nearly?”  Skye had countered, crossing her arms defensively at her chest.  “Why didn’t you?  He’d have deserved it.”

“He had his reasons, Skye,” Bobbi had replied and frustratingly admitted nothing further where Fitz was concerned.  “It should come from him.”

Bobbi then pressed the paper with his contact info into Jemma’s palm and encouraged her to give Fitz a second chance.

“He really means well,” she’d added with small smile.  “He just has a funny way of going about things.”

And that had been that.

Now Jemma was faced with the daunting task of deciding whether or not she should call him.  As much as Skye would insist to the contrary, Jemma was no romantic, but something inside of her was telling her to give Fitz another chance.  She was definitely interested in him and he was admittedly very smart and handsome, which was certainly her type.  But on the other hand, he’d left without explanation and as Skye had repeatedly pointed out, that hadn’t exactly painted him in a positive light.

A soft knock sounded at the same time that the door to her bedroom opened.

“Can I come in?” Skye asked, stepping into Jemma’s room.

She smiled and sat up, leaning against her headboard and pulling her knees up to her chest.  “You know Skye, generally one waits to be invited into a room before entering,” she pretended to scold, wagging her finger for added emphasis.

Skye grinned mischievously and made a playful dive for Jemma’s bed, landing stomach first onto the mattress.  “I wanted to see if you’d made a decision,” she said folding her hands into an arch and resting her chin on top of it as she kicked up her heels. “Have you?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“Too much of a roller coaster?”

She shrugged and ran her fingertips for the hundredth time along the edge of the now wrinkled and worn paper.  “I just keep thinking: is the ride even worth it?” she asked rhetorically.  “I’m not convinced it is.  I mean the evidence alone would suggest--”

Skye rolled her eyes.  “Forget the evidence,” she advised, nudging Jemma’s foot with her elbow.  “Just go with what your gut says to do.  That’s what I would do.”

“You know that you’re letting your nervous system make decisions for you when you do that, right?”

“Jemma!”

She exhaled, her eyes dropping to the paper she held between her fingers. “That’s that, then.”  With one quick pull she tore the paper in half, squared the edges and ripped it a second time into quarters.

Skye’s eyes widened with shock.  “I can’t believe you just--”

Before Skye could even finish her sentence, Jemma’s cell phone began to vibrate, indicating an incoming call.  Both looked at it with curiosity.  

“Who’s that?”

Jemma reached for the phone and when she saw the number that flashed across her screen, her mouth fell open in shock. She turned it toward Skye.

“Whose number is it?”

“Fitz’s.”

“ _ Fitz?! _ ”  Skye scrambled to her knees and leaned forward to get a closer look at the phone  “Did you memorize it or are you two just psychically linked?”  She narrowed her eyes at Jemma.  “Do you think he knows that you tore his number up?”

Jemma gave her an incredulous look.  “Of course he doesn’t!  He’s not telepathic; there’s no such thing!”

“Right.”  Skye shook her head, clearing the thought.  “What are you going to do?”

The phone continued to vibrate in Jemma’s hand.  “I dunno!  Should I answer it?”

She threw her hands into the air. “Yes!  _ Duh! _ ”

Jemma swallowed thickly, her heart suddenly beating quicker as she slid her thumb across the screen and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

There was a choked cough on the other end, followed by, “Hi. Jemma?”

Her heart clenched at the familiar voice on the other end. “Yes?”

“It’s-- it’s Fitz.  I mean, Leo Fitz.”  He paused.  “Fitz, that is. From the party… And before.”

Jemma chuckled softly, warmth swelling within her. “I remember.  Hi, Fitz. How are you?”  

Skye gestured wildly and fell back onto the bed, miming as if an arrow or something equally ridiculous was hitting her chest.  Jemma glared at her and stretched out her leg, swatting Skye with her foot as she mouthed for her to stop.

“How’re things?” she said as calmly as she could manage in light of the nonsense happening at the edge of her bed.

“It’s good,” he replied.  “Things are… um…” He seemed be searching for the right way to begin and she could feel the blush rise on her cheeks at the very thought.  “Listen, I know I don’t deserve it and... and I realize it’s Christmas Eve and I’m sure you have plans with your family--”

“I don’t,” she said, probably a touch too quickly.  

“You don’t?”

“Honest.” She couldn’t help the warm smile that bloomed on her face.  

“I was wondering if you would--” he began hesitantly, clearing his throat.  “I mean, there’s a nice Thai place that I know is open late tonight. You know, because it’s Christmas Eve, and who doesn’t like Thai food? I mean, that is if maybe you don’t like Thai food?  Oh God, do you not like Thai food?  I could’ve sworn Bobbi said that you--”

He was babbling and Jemma found it oddly endearing.  “No!  I do!  I love Thai.  Really, that’d be great.”

“You’re certain?” he asked with breathless disbelief.

“Yes,” she assured, nodding her head.  Skye perked at her movement and grinned, giving her approval with a thumbs-up. “Definitely.”

“Okay!” he said.  “Good.  I mean-- yeah. Okay then. I’ll text you the address and time if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” she said, a smile quirking at her lips.  “That’d be great!”

When Jemma hung up the phone she looked up and realized that Skye was glaring at her, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  

“What?”

Skye burst into a fit of giggles, unable to keep up the act she’d been playing.  “You memorized his number!  You  _ like  _ him!”  

“ _ Skye! _ ”  

“Roller coaster my a--” Skye never got to finish her sentence as Jemma’s pillow hit her squarely in the head.

…

Jemma felt absolutely ridiculous as she double-checked the address Fitz had given her.  Her heart was practically thundering in her chest and her hand shook so much she almost pressed the wrong apartment number when ringing for Fitz’s.  She’d already taken numerous deep breaths in a valiant attempt at calming herself, but it had been to no avail.  She was categorically nervous. 

What she wasn’t certain of was whether she was nervous because she was seeing  _ Leopold Fitz _ , her favourite author, or because she’d been asked to dinner by  _ Fitz _ , the man who’d kissed her senseless outside of her building.  It seemed unbelievable to her that the man she’d been desperate to meet for so long was really someone she’d already met and more than enjoyed the company of; she only hoped that the feeling was mutual.

She shook the thought from her head; of course he wanted to see her again, she was the renowned Dr. Jemma Simmons, the very person who’d discovered the dendrotoxin compound and had invented a rechargeable tactical unit. She’d even analyzed seismic mounds, for goodness’ sake!  Secret government agencies were practically fighting for a contract with her.  She had no business being nervous.

None whatsoever.  

She glanced down at the address one last time for reassurance that she was at the right location, straightened her shoulders, flattened her palm against her stomach and willed the fluttery feeling inside away.  She lifted her knuckles to the door and knocked once solidly, followed by three more times in quick succession. When Fitz opened the door, he’d barely uttered a hello before she replied, rambling about the too-mild-for-December weather, his building’s kindly doorman and (most embarrassingly) the framed print of ancient Peruvian ruins that hung on the wall next to the elevator.

“Hi,” he said, a smile quirking at his lips as his hand ran through his already mussed hair.

Skye was right, she definitely had zero “chill” where Fitz was concerned.  

“Sorry,” she muttered, suddenly self-conscious as she reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.  

“Don’t be,” he assured gently, shaking his head as he opened the door wider, inviting her inside.  “I have something for you.”

Her heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach.  “But I-- I didn’t--” She floundered helplessly, her eyes wide with panic.  While it was Christmas Eve, it hadn’t occurred to her to bring Fitz a gift.

Fitz tilted his head, confused by her reaction.

“It’s just-- I…” She sighed, her shoulders sagging.  “I hadn’t realized… I didn’t bring you anything.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment before his eyebrows shot upward, realization dawning on him. “Oh!”  He shook his head hurriedly as he closed the door behind her.  “It’s not a gift or anything, it’s just something I think belongs to you.  Bobbi said that you’d… It’s just… It’s why I left that night at the party.  I went home to retrieve it.”

Her face was hot with embarrassment as he maneuvered around her to access a tablet case that sat on a small table next to the doorway.

“I probably should’ve said something that night,” he explained as he unzipped the front pocket. “Believe me, Bobbi laid right into me over it.  But I wasn’t-- well, I wasn’t entirely certain it was yours.  I mean, I figured it was.  I reckon I wanted to surprise you a bit, just the same. Just--” He swallowed, the tips of his ears red as he tugged open the pocket and freed what he’d kept safely stored away.  “Here.”  

Her mouth dropped open with surprise when she saw what he held out in his hand. “You stole my snowman!”

“I didn’t steal it,” he retorted laughingly as she took Skye’s snowman brooch from him.  “I found it in the breast pocket of my jacket.”

She marvelled at his find, turning it over in her hand.  She was unable to believe that he’d had it all along; she’d thought that the brooch was lost for good.  “How’d it even get there?”

“I-- um...”  He reached up to rub at the back of his neck as he toed the floor.  “I suspect it fell into my pocket when… uh--”  He motioned between them, blush spreading to his cheeks.

“Right,” she muttered, her own features reddening once again.  “I’d imagine you don’t usually go around kissing strange girls on the regular,” she added without thinking.

“No! Of course not!”

Jemma’s hand clapped her mouth and her eyes widened in terror.  “That’s not what I meant! I just-- I mean… Obviously you don’t,” she corrected quickly.  “I mean, why would you?  Certainly I don’t.  I mean, who really would? What you must’ve thought about me that night!”

Fitz stared, a bemused smirk on his face as the words  _ shut up, shut up, shut up! _ circled in her mind.  She seemed physically unable to stop babbling.

“I just-- gahh!” Jemma lurched forward, impulsively pressing her lips to his cheek.  “Thank you,” she said on an exhale.

He smiled bashfully and rubbed the spot where her lips had touched.  “It was nothing, really.”

Fitz held her gaze for the longest of minutes and it felt a bit like he was asking some unspoken question; as if he was searching for some confirmation.  A contented sigh escaped when a strange pressure gripped her chest.  “Maybe it was.”

His hand tightened into a fist at his side and he cleared his throat. “Uh-- We have a bit of time before the reservation.  Did you fancy a cuppa?”

“Yes!  That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Fitz grinned as he unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and began to roll them up to his elbows.  “I’ll just be a few minutes, then.  Why don’t you have a seat in the living room?”

She nodded and exhaled audibly as he disappeared around a corner.  Jemma slipped her coat from her shoulders and secured the brooch in her clutch. Thankfully, her pulse had notably calmed as she slung her coat over the crook of her arm and began to take in his apartment more fully.  

Fitz’s apartment was much larger than she’d expected.  There was a large brown, worn leather sofa at the center of the room which was flanked by an arm chair which faced an oversized television.  There were numerous wires that hung from every part of the television connecting it to several gaming systems and digital boxes that sat on the shelves below it.  She laid her coat and clutch on the arm of the chair and eagerly headed toward his bookshelf in the corner.

As she’d expected, his novels were neatly ordered.  She smiled fondly when she noticed that they were organized by publication date and she pulled out her favourite,  _ Bulletproof Glass & Broken Hearts.   _ She flipped through the pages and recalled how it had captivated her and had solidified in her mind that Leopold Fitz was an unappreciated genius.

“Oh, don’t read that,” a voice called out.  “It’s rubbish.”

She turned and hugged the book at her waist. “‘It’s not!  I think it might be your best, actually.”

Fitz’s eyes locked on hers and it was as though he was seeing her properly for the first time since she’d arrived.

“You-- you look quite nice,” he stuttered, swallowing thickly, his attention clearly caught  _ elsewhere  _ before he cleared his throat and leaned down to place the tea set onto the table at the center of the room.

She blushed profusely and glanced down at the black dress that she’d borrowed from Skye.  When she’d tried it on, she’d thought it accentuated her… well,  _ assets  _ a little too much.  “Thank you,” she replied shyly, tugging at her hemline and wishing that she felt more confident with its length.  “I wasn’t sure if I’d overdressed.”  

He shook his head in vehement protest.  “No!” he said, his voice cracking as he righted himself.  “I mean, no,” he repeated, deepening his reply. “It’s not too much.  You just look, I mean--”  Fitz fished for a response, his mouth opening and closing helplessly as his hand rustled the hair at the back of his neck.  “You look-- you’re perfect,” he muttered at last, his gaze dropping again.

She didn’t know how to respond to his compliment.  Her face flushed hotly and she held tightly onto the corners of the book.  She watched as he fiddled with the tea tray, trying to position the pieces just right.  The muscles of his forearms flexed subtly as he lifted the teapot and poured tea into each cup.  She rubbed at the gooseflesh along her arms, desperate to quell the sudden desire that flared within her

He held up the creamer.  “Milk, no sugar?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly and effectively lessening the obvious tension between them.

“Yes!” she declared, hoarsely before clearing her throat. “That’s exactly it.  How’d you know?”

Fitz smiled, the corners of his lips quaking slightly.  “Lucky guess, I suppose.”

“And I’m guessing you’re sugar, but no milk?” she asked, a teasing lilt returning to her voice.

He looked up at her, his smile wide as he methodically scooped several teaspoons of sugar into his cup.  “Good guess.”   

“A true Scotsman, you are,” she remarked with a grin.  

She placed the book onto the table and took a seat on the sofa.  Fitz passed her a cup and she held it between her hands and sniffed, revelling in the dark smell of bergamot oil. “Earl Grey,” she noted. “My favourite.”

“Mine as well,” he hummed with agreement and took the seat next to her.  

Jemma took her first sip, replaced her cup onto her saucer and turning slightly in her seat to face him.  “There was something I had to ask.”

He turned slightly, raised his eyebrows and looked at her over the edge of his cup as he took another sip of his tea.

She leaned forward.  “Is the femtosecond laser real?” she asked in an unnecessarily low voice.  “Did you really create a tangible hologram?”

He lowered his cup and gave a look that trivialized the significance of his invention. “When it projects it only occupies the space of about one centimeter cubed.”

“But you’ve done it?”

“I tested two laser sources--”

She nodded, recalling the details from his novel.  “One that projects 1,000 pulses per second--”

“-- and one that projects up to 200,000 pulses per second.”

Jemma moved her cup and saucer to the coffee table.  “And?”

He shrugged weakly.  “I can’t stabilize the volumetric display.”

She shifted closer toward him, almost automatically.  “Have you accounted for the surface tension of the domain walls?  Adjusted the femtosecond?”  Fitz nodded and she pressed on.  “What if you increased the fog that was generated?  With the water droplets the images should become multilayered and when it’s synchronized with the projector--”

“--the crystals should shutter it?”  

She nodded, her enthusiasm palatable.  “And enlarge the projection!”

Fitz leaped from the sofa, nearly spilling his tea in the process.  He quickly deposited his cup and saucer onto the coffee table and rushed to his front door.  He grabbed his tablet case from the table at the entryway and yanked the tablet from it, letting the case fall to the floor.  He hurried back to the sofa, his eyes fixated on his screen as he tapped and slid his finger along it.

“If I synchronize the images...” he said, muttering to himself as he paced in front of her. “Then the increased droplets should correlate,” he tapped at the tablet and then pressed a button at its side, “and then the small particles--”  He stopped and looked down at Jemma for confirmation.

She rose quickly to her feet, an encouraging smile wide on her lips.  “--Should be levitated and provide the necessary haptic feedback!”

The tablet buzzed with his last command and he flattened it on his palm.  An image projected upward and out from the tablet.  It was a simulation of what they’d just proposed.  Jemma stared up in awe as the image spun from left to right, changing shape as it swirled, much like the spiral art she’d done as a young girl.  Maths equations solved themselves at the projection’s corner, calculating the volumetric display.  When it completed, the image folded in on itself and fell back into the tablet.  

Fitz looked at her, stunned.

“What?” she asked, moving to peer over his shoulder at the screen of the tablet.  “What is it? Did it work?”

He turned, his mouth wide as he stared at her.

“Well?”

“It works!” he said breathlessly stunned.  “It works!”

“It works?” She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.  “Really?”

He nodded.  “Really!”

She couldn’t help herself.  Whatever inhibitions she may have had when she’d first arrived had disappeared.  She threw herself into his arms and hugged him solidly, squealing with excitement.  If what he was saying was true, and the holograph had been significantly improved, it would be a huge leap for the scientific community.  Its potential was almost incomprehensible.   

“I’m so glad I could’ve helped!”

“Helped?” he asked confusedly, pulling back from their hug to look at her more fully at an arm’s length.  “If it wasn’t for your paper detailing how you achieved the beam-splitting diffraction used in the operating parameters of the tactical device, I’d never have been able to modulate the pixels in the first place.”  He tossed his tablet on to the sofa, the action marred with frustration. “It’s because of your work that the device even has an optical phase array.  If you ask me we’re practically partners--”

“You’ve read my work?” she interrupted, agog.  It felt as if the breath had been stolen from her chest.

His face blanched at her question and his mouth opened and closed indecisively, drawing the silence out between them.  

“You’ve read my work,” she repeated slowly, this time more as a stunned statement than a question.  “When?”

His left shoulder rose in a helpless shrug.  He looked as if he’d been caught red-headed in something he hadn’t meant to reveal.

She eyed him curiously, her mind racing and it was in his silence that the truth finally dawned on her.

“I’m her, aren’t I?” Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, desperate to know if she was right.  “The one you were afraid would reject you if you wrote to her?  The one you said you’d wanted to ask for help?”

His features softened, answering her questions without an uttered word.  

Her heart swelled with hope. “Oh.”

He seemed to study her, unsure of how to respond.  She shivered involuntarily under his inspection and a renewed prickle of desire fluttered through her veins.

“I didn’t know it was you that first night we’d met in the lift at the gala,” he shakily admitted, and she suppressed the urge to kiss the uncertainty from his face.  “But I‘d been reading your work for years.   _ Admiring _ your work, really.”

It all seemed unbelievable to her.  “And you never--”

He shook his head, bowing his head shyly. “Never had the courage.  Didn’t think you’d like me or think I was smart enough. Didn’t believe we’d get on like we have.  That it’d-- that I’d… feel this way.”

Heat flared on her cheeks as he looked up, his eyes meeting hers.  He was staring at her with an expression that she hadn’t expected.  

He wanted her.  

_ Her. _

She stepped toward him, the weight of his gaze drawing her nearer.  She felt her heart skip nervously and she let her eyes drop to his lips.  He seemed to react almost instinctively and his tongue darted across his bottom lip, wetting it as desire tightened the lines of his face.

_ He wanted her. _

“For the record,” she said throatily.  “I’d never have refused you.  Even without knowing you were Leopold Fitz.” She looked heavenward.  “Even before…  _ everything _ .”

“Yeah?” The word was a breath. An exhale, really.

She nodded slowly but surely.  “Yeah.”

Maybe Skye had been right earlier; maybe she and Fitz really were psychically linked.  Maybe he truly was telepathic.  Or maybe they just both wanted the same thing and it had grown uncontrollable, larger than the both of them had even realized.

Jemma couldn’t quite discern who it was that had moved first, but before either could utter another word, the distance between them had closed and Fitz was dropping his head to meet hers in what became a heated and fervent kiss.  She stepped further into his embrace, engulfed with pleasure as his arms wrapped tight at her waist, tugging her closer.  She had the fleeting thought that he tasted a bit like shortbread and tea and she couldn’t stop her contented grin as she curled both her arms around his neck and deepened their kiss.  

One kiss replaced the next which replaced the next; each quickly becoming indistinguishable from the one that preceded it.  Jemma felt as if she was drowning in pleasure as her fingers fumbled with his buttons and his pulled at her dress’ zipper.  Both were similarly single-minded and driven and fabric tore as they both stumbled over their half-removed clothes and made their way feverishly across the living room, toward the bedroom.  

“You’re sure?” Fitz asked, his breath hot against her mouth as she fell backward onto his bed.  “I swear I made a reservation,” he noted with a throaty chuckle as he hovered over her. “Honest.”

Warmth flowed through her and she could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingertips.  She smiled widely and guided his mouth back to hers. “Very.”


	4. Epilogue

The elevator doors closed behind them, leaving them truly alone for the first time in what felt like hours.  Since their presentation earlier in the Stark Tower ballroom, Jemma and Fitz been peppered with non-stop questions about their Holotable and its extension, the Echo Chamber. 

“Did you see that?” Fitz asked, pressing up alongside her, his fingers casually feathering hers. “They liked the names I chose.”

“That you chose?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow as she pressed the button for the ground floor.  “If we’d gone with what you’d originally wanted they’d be named Touch Table and Electric Library.  They’d have laughed us out of the building!”

“Those were good names.  I just thought of better ones, is all!”

Jemma laughed amicably and curled her arm around his, letting her hand slide into his.  “We did good though, didn’t we?”

He smiled easily and squeezed her hand.  “We did.”

Their joint effort to improve and stabilize the femtosecond laser had resulted in the publication of their findings in a myriad of scientific journals.  Soon, their collaboration had become the top news in the scientific community and various government organizations-- both public and secret-- were clamoring for a demonstration.  Stark Industries had agreed to sponsor the event and hundreds of buyers had shown up, ready to offer them development bids.

“From what Hunter said, it seems like we’re really going to have quite the decision on our hands,” Fitz said.

“Good!  You deserve it.”

He nudged her and tugged on her hand.  “ _ We _ deserve it.”

She turned, pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Fitz’s body shifted slightly and he released her hand in order to cup her jaw and further deepen the kiss.  

She sighed contentedly when they parted.  “You know, we met in this lift,” she whispered, revelling in the press of his body against hers.  

Fitz let his fingers linger in her hair.  “We did,” he agreed breathily.  “And you drove me to distraction then as well.”

His hands started to slide down over her clothes and toward the small of her back as he leaned in and kissed her again.  Jemma wondered selfishly if Stark’s elevators were under video surveillance.  Just as she was about to suggest that Fitz channel his technical wizardry into cutting the feed, she was taken by surprise when he pulled away abruptly.

She pouted dramatically before giving him a quizzical look.    

“Where’s the brooch?” he asked, tugging gently on the lapel of her blazer.  “I rather like that brooch.”

Jemma grinned and hooked her arm at his waist and leaned into him.  “You like it because you get lucky when it’s near.”  

She could feel him smile against her hair.  “That’s a good enough reason to like something.”

“Skye asked for it back.  She met someone and thought she needed luck.”

“Oh?  Really? Here?”  He pulled away slightly to look at her more squarely.  “It’s not Tony Stark, is it?  Cause I don’t know if that’s--”

She shook her head, stopping him mid-sentence and Fitz relaxed back into her.  “He works for the government, Antoine something-or-other.  He was cute.” She could feel Fitz shift against her and she nudged him lightly in the side. “Oh, don’t be jealous.  You’re cuter!  I told her she didn’t need luck; he couldn’t tear his eyes from her.  But she insisted that I owed her a favour.”

“Still?”

Jemma chuckled as the doors to the elevator slid open, revealing the ground floor. “You ripped her dress!”

Fitz relaxed his hold and Jemma stepped away from his embrace and exited the elevator car with Fitz at her side.  “That’s not entirely my fault.  You looked too good in it, what was I supposed to do?”

“Fine,” she relented, laughingly. “ _ We  _ ripped the dress.  In any case, I told her there was no such thing as luck.”

They pushed through the front doors of Stark Tower and exited onto the sidewalk.  She reached her hand out and tugged at Fitz’s coat, stopping him.  He turned toward her, eyes questioning.

“I think I live too close to Stark Tower,” she said slyly, a flirtatious grin on her lips as she recalled their first encounter.

He stepped closer and rested his hands comfortably on her hips.  “Quite right,” he agreed with a devilish grin.  “And unlike that night, I’m rather grateful for it.”

Fitz tilted his head toward her and Jemma pressed her palm against his chest, keeping him at a distance.  “I thought you wanted to go back to the lab,” she teased, “see what offers had come in on the Holotable; begin working on the retrievers…” She tipped her chin, knowingly. “You had plans.”

“As is always the case with us,” he said, tugging her close,  “plans change.”

“Plans change?”

He nodded.  “I'd never dreamed I'd be publishing and presenting anything with Jemma Simmons; never fathomed it.”

“Oh?”

“And now I'm going to be dodging work in favour of walking her to her blessedly-nearby flat.”

“I suppose you think you’re invited?” she continued to tease.

“Hm?” He raised his eyebrows with a knowing smirk.

“You know that I only let respected authors like Leopold Fitz into my flat.”

“Oh, really?” His throaty brogue dipped to a lower register. “Well then I guess it's a good thing that I’m on such good terms with him.”

She snuggled against him, relishing in the warmth he provided from the cold. “You are, are you? What a coincidence!”

“There’s this thing my girlfriend has on occasion,” he shrugged dismissively as he combed an errant piece of Jemma’s hair behind her ear with his fingers.  “It brings me luck that way.”

She opened her mouth to protest but before she could utter a word, Fitz’s mouth settled on hers and he kissed her soundly.

When they parted there was a noticeable, mischievous, sparkle in Jemma’s eyes.  

“What?” he asked curiously.

She put her hand into her blazer pocket and pulled out the now familiar snowman brooch.

Fitz stepped back, surprise etched on his face.  “How--? I thought you said you’d given it to Skye.”  He narrowed his eyes. “Did you steal it from her?”

Jemma smiled and shook her head. “I said she’d asked for it. Not that I’d given it back.”

He stared at her, stunned into silence.

“Why would I give it back?” she continued, grinning more broadly.  “I’ve been told that it’s lucky...”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

“Well,” she began suggestively, narrowing the gap between them. “Sometimes all you need is enough empirical evidence in order for something to be proven true…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
